


i'm making you (a personal debt)

by firetan



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Friendship, Gen, Kurosaki Ichigo is Shiba Kaien, Past Character Death, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21602023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firetan/pseuds/firetan
Summary: Ichigo Kurosaki is strange. Always has been.He's slim and just a bit gangly beneath the muscle, with hints of baby fat still left in his cheeks. He's only fifteen, after all. Young. Still in his childhood, still growing, still with a whole lot left to learn.But, those around him think to themselves, he has never quite felt like a child at all.
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia & Kurosaki Ichigo, Kurosaki Ichigo & Shiba Kaien
Comments: 14
Kudos: 529
Collections: Identity Crisis, Real Good Shit





	i'm making you (a personal debt)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Saturnz Barz" by the Gorillaz. Don't remember why, might've just liked the line.

When Rukia first arrives in the Transient World, senses outstretched to keep track of the Hollow she’s been hunting, she doesn’t expect to hear a halfway-familiar voice saying her name like it’s both the question and the answer.

“—Rukia?”

She turns, nearly giving herself whiplash (ugh, being away from Soul Society is awfully disorienting, the air’s empty and it makes her totally uncoordinated) as she stares at the very confused-looking human occupying the room she just entered. He’s staring right back at her, brown eyes (not blue) wide and surprised under a shock of ridiculously carrot-colored hair (about as far from black as possible). He looks so painstakingly familiar, down to the way his eyes focus on hers, but this human is clearly a child — gangly and a bit thin, some remnants of baby fat still visible around the contours of his face. Can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen. He couldn’t be more different than the man whose image remains burned onto the backs of her eyes, but...

The human’s face takes on a sheepish expression, furrowed brows giving the false impression of frustration. “That’s, uh... that is your name, right? I could be remembering wrong, since my dreams aren’t usually too clear. Uh, why are you in my room?”

“You— you can see me?”

He tilts his head, like some sort of confused, grouchy puppy. “Uh, yeah? I can see spirits and Soul Reapers and stuff. Are you hunting something?”

Fuck, that’s right— “The Hollow! It’s—“ Oh. Oh, no. She lost track of the reiatsu signature, and now something’s blocking her from finding it again— “Damn it, where’s it gone?”

“You can’t sense it?” The human’s watching her calmly, which is entirely rude because she feels everything except calm right now! He yawns and stretches, one arm first and then the other, before the furrow of his brows grows deeper in what looks like concentration. “Hold on, give me a moment — there, that better?”

And she’s about to say it is, because whatever he did (and how could he do it, anyways) managed to bring the Hollow’s acrid reiatsu back to the forefront of her senses, but— but suddenly the Hollow isn’t half a kilometer away, it’s far too close and Rukia can feel her eyes starting to water painfully at the sensation. Like cutting onions, like some goddamn noxious gas, and the fact that she can taste it in the back of her throat means— "Get out of here! The Hollow's right on us!"

Finally, the human reacts, eyes blowing wide as he scrambles out of his bed and to the window. He looks out like he's searching for something, and Rukia can see his entire body tensing like a tightly-coiled spring even as she draws her sword and tries to orient herself in the right direction.

It's curious, a part of her mind manages to wonder — although he's tall, the human looks so painfully young. His face is round, shaped more like Captain Unohana's than Captain Ukitake's, he's got hands and feet a little too big for the rest of his body and one or two healed acne marks on his chin. Everything about him, from his messy hair to his rumpled shirt (the cut looks weird, but Rukia's not exactly a connoisseur of Transient-World fashion), screams child to her. 

But the way he moves? The set of his jaw?

For a moment, she can't see anything but a soldier.

The human swears and turns to the door just a half-second before a high, piercing scream echoes up from the floor below them, and Rukia feels a chill run down her spine because that wasn't the sort of sound any adult could have made. She looks up to meet the boy's eyes, and the horror painted across his face strikes her to the core.

_"Go!"_

* * *

She goes.

* * *

She doesn't go fast enough.

* * *

One minute, they're exchanging names and she's pressing the tip of Sode no Shirayuki to his sternum. The human — Ichigo, what a surprisingly cute name — manages a sharp-edged grin.

The next minute, every scrap of her energy leaves her body in a nigh-exhilarating rush, and Rukia watches as the black hakama of her uniform flicker into a plain white yukata and her zanpakutō dissolves into air. She only meant to give him a small piece of her power, how-- how had she been rendered little more than a simple Plus, helpless and useless?

Clad in the dark shihakushō of a Soul Reaper and resting an over-sized sword against his shoulder, the moonlight catches on the edge of Ichigo's jaw and hair as he stands silhouetted by a streetlight. It's a powerful stance, unflinching in the face of danger, and for a moment Rukia thinks she might stop breathing (silly, considering she's dead).

He's just a child, but the way he braces his feet against the pavement and cuts a simple, efficient strike across the Hollow's mask? The way he bends at the waist and offers her an open hand?

Kaien is all she can see.

All things considered, Rukia thinks she might be forgiven for passing out at the first opportunity.

* * *

"So, do you Soul Reapers usually hear voices?"

It takes a lot of self-control to not bite through the straw of her juice box (hey, the Transient World has some good ideas after all), and Rukia manages to instead inhale about half the contents instead. Ichigo waits patiently as she coughs, scrambling momentarily to regain her breath and respond to the question. Hearing voices, does that mean he's already begun talking to his zanpakutō? Most Soul Reapers don't manage that until their last years at Shinō, or even after graduation.

She tells him as much, and he shrugs far too nonchalantly. "I don't think it's him. He's talked to me too, at night, but I think this guy is different. Always trying to— I don't know, make everyone chill and talk it out. Real weird."

"Sorry, 'everyone'?"

Ichigo tilts his head awkwardly to the side, like some very confused and very spiky dog. It's such a young gesture, Rukia almost aches at the sight. Wonders if she was ever this young. "Well, there's chill-out guy, and the old man, and the guy who looks like me but white— not like European white, but like he got dunked in a vat of bleach white. Old man likes to talk about big philosophical stuff, white guy always wants to fight, and then the other voice is always trying to make them calm down. Well, mostly white guy, but you know."

No. No she really doesn't know. "And— wait, so which one is your zanpakutō spirit? Are any of them?"

"I think so?" He makes a face. "I think the old guy and the white guy both are? Dunno if that's how it's supposed to work, but chill-out guy just says I'm a weird case and it's fine that they're both there."

Before Rukia can quite figure out a response, his face lights up with realization. "Oh! And he said not to trust that shopkeeper guy. But he seemed kinda proud of him too? Like the whole stick-it-to-the-man vibe. I dunno, I didn't really understand most of the stuff he was going on about. Something about divisions and exile— hey, do you know if Hat'n'Clogs was a Soul Reaper like you? Used to be, I guess?"

"Urahara?" That much, at least, she can try to answer. "I'm not sure. If he was, he was before my time. Now it's more like— he's kind of an unofficial supplier, for Soul Reapers stationed in the Transient World."

Ichigo blinks a few times. "Supplier? Of what?"

"Lots of stuff." Taking another sip of her juice (seriously, best invention, she's bringing these boxes back to Soul Society for sure), Rukia pauses for a moment to think. "Mod Souls like Kon, tech like my Denreishiki and the gigai I've been using, medical supplies, those sorts of things. I'm pretty sure he sells normal human stuff too, like food and candy."

He graces her with an amused snort. "Bold of you to imply that Soul Reapers don't need to eat." One eyebrow raises pointedly in the direction of her juice box, though his expression relaxes before she can come up with a retort. "But I guess that makes sense. Not like you could go into a regular konbini and try to pay them with kan. The currency you guys use is way out of date, you know."

"I've figured it out, yes." She shoots him a dirty scowl, and receives a laugh for her trouble.

"Well, there you go." 

There's something about the way Ichigo smiles at her, less sharp edges and a little more amused fondness, that catches Rukia off-guard. It's familiar in all the wrong ways, just like the boy himself. Spending time with him like this feels too much like chasing ghosts — not the Pluses and Hollows they hunt down whenever her denreishiki sends up the alert, but proper ghosts. The kind that are made of the memories of the living, rather than the souls of the dead.

It's just not fair, how this child laughs like a man she once killed.

* * *

Uryū has always been confused by the eldest Kurosaki child.

Of course he knows who— and what— the family is, has overheard Ryūken talking about them enough times to piece together the clues. He may be young but he’s far from stupid, and he’s seen how ghosts cluster around the bright-haired boy like he’s some sort of lighthouse in a dark, desolate sea. And yet, Uryū doesn’t understand.

No amount of bizarre Quincy-Hollow-Soul Reaper heritage should be able to explain why Ichigo Kurosaki looks like an old, old soul in a too-young body.

Or the way Ichigo Kurosaki sometimes looks at him with sad, sad eyes.

Like he knows.

Like he understands.

It's infuriating— how can he look like that, look like he knows what Uryū's been through, how can he make that face when he runs around in a Soul Reaper's black clothes and wields their weapons against the hollows Uryū's summoned. How can he look so old and so young, so understanding when he can't, he can't understand—

"Did you know," Rukia Kuchiki tells him two days later, on the school roof while Ichigo is gone to speak to a teacher about some assignments he'd missed, "his mother was killed by a hollow. He was nine years old."

The news tastes bitter in the back of Uryū's throat. "So was I."

She looks at him, eyes darker than they should be, too deep for the age she appears to be. Somehow, Uryū's not sure he's ever known a child who's actually had a childhood, and Rukia Kuchiki is no different. She's the type of small and slender that screams malnourished, whispers to him of struggle. Her skin is fair and soft, but her hands bear callouses and crooked fingers, and Uryū knows ( _knows to well, and not only because Ryūken is a doctor, not in the least_ ) that not all of them are borne of bearing a sword.

"Do you think that's why he's so—"

She doesn't say it, and she doesn't have to— he can hear it fine. _Strange_ , the silence hums.

Because Ichigo Kurosaki is strange.

Always has been.

Too serious one moment, too lighthearted the next. Inconsistent and yet reliable, always just a little set apart from the rest of the crowd. A sort of calm maturity in his eyes, as though he's always been looking at the world and accepting it as it is, understanding its darkness and yet finding its light.

Uryū's not sure he's ever known a child who's actually had a childhood, but...

Somehow, he doesn't think Ichigo Kurosaki was ever a child to begin with.

But that's ridiculous, right?

... right?

* * *

The first moment Renji sets eyes on the punk who's stolen Rukia's powers, his first (strange, confusing, unbidden) thought is _Shiba_.

Followed by, _Vice-Captain?_

That's ridiculous, of course. The last Shiba in the Gotei 13 was Captain Isshin Shiba, who went Missing In Action over two decades ago. And before him, the last was— well, better not thinking about that, especially when they were already taking Rukia in like some common prisoner.

Kaien Shiba would tear down half the Seireitei if he knew.

_(If he hadn't died.)_

The boy— Ichigo Kurosaki, their intel has said, has two younger sisters and a single father, mother passed away six years past, attends the local high school and wants to become a doctor, _loves Shakespeare, hates bullies, overprotective, a natural leader, a punk with no regard for rules_ — looks downright furious when he meets Renji's eyes. If Renji were a lesser man, were so many decades past and bare of the badge snug against his left shoulder, he would have quailed at the chill in those brown eyes.

In the dark, in the night, rays of moonlight cast them into a blue as deep as the ocean.

Renji shivers.

It's just the chill, of course. What else could it be?

But no matter how strong the boy stands, how steady his shoulders or how sharp his voice— he is still only a boy. Barely fifteen, nowhere near old enough to challenge a Captain. It feels wrong, watching Captain Kuchiki cut him down, seeing those round cheeks damp with tears as he falls to the ground. The kid still has acne marks on his chin, for god's sake. Still has those wide eyes, just young enough to glare like the condemnation of the gods themselves as Renji turns and summons the senkaimon.

Prepares to leave.

Ichigo Kurosaki's eyes reflect the blue of the late evening rain, and he meets Renji's gaze without flinching, even stained by blood and dirt and tears. Accusing, begging, asking why.

_Why would you do this?_

Renji wouldn't say he flees. The Vice-Captain of the 6th Division of the Gotei 13 does not flee. It is below his station.

But if he walks a little faster, hurries to return to the Seireitei just a bit more than usual...

Perhaps he can be forgiven.

It is a chilling thing, to meet the eyes of a dead man.

But it shouldn't be. After all...

Kaien Shiba is dead.

_He is dead._

There is nothing left behind in Karakura but a crying boy, and puddles that reflect nothing at all.

* * *

When Ichigo pulls the hollow mask off of his face, he can see Urahara go still, and not in the way that says he's ready to attack. No, it's the stillness of shock, of wonder, of thoughts racing a million miles an hour — and he knows, without needing a word, that Urahara's already realized who he is.

(He won't understand until many days later, when Inoue peers up at him and says "Oh, Kurosaki-kun, your eyes!" — won't know until he looks in a mirror, at the ocean-blue staring back at him, at the way his hair darkens at the roots — until then, he won't understand how Urahara knew. But in the moment, it doesn't matter — all Ichigo cares about is that he has changed, and he doesn't have to hide it or explain it. He's already understood.)

It's not every day you spend your first visit to a sideways underwater city having tea with your past life, while he acts as a couples' therapist for you, your manifested Quincy powers (and wasn't _that_ a shock), and your hollowfied zanpakutō spirit (way less surprising, all things considered).

Finally putting a name to the half-remembered voice that's been in the back of his head all his life is... nice, Ichigo thinks.

Kaien Shiba's a pretty cool guy, all things considered. Figuring out a peaceful arrangement took a lot less time than expected, so they'd spent most of the time while Ichigo was tied up at the bottom of that pit going over the memories he was starting to inherit, sorting things out and making mental files for easier access. One wouldn't expect it, looking at Ichigo and his heritage (and that was a whole _other_ can of worms he'd never thought to open - well, he'd never have to wonder about whether he got Kurosaki from his mother or father again, at least), but he'd always been good at organizing and compartmentalizing, and this wasn't really any different once you got down to it. Zangetsu and the Old Man (who refused to accept a name) even helped out, after a bit.

And then, when everything was worked out, when they were sure the recycled memories weren't going to damage Ichigo's mind— well, then Kaien taught Ichigo how to fight.

In Urahara's secret training ground basement, with a sealed zanpakutō strapped to his back and the shards of a hollow mask in his hand, Ichigo can feel that knowledge humming under his skin. Hot like fire (like his father, like his mother, the inheritance of his family), cold like ice (the echoes of the gift Rukia left him, the favor he has to repay too many times over), flowing through his veins like a river to the sea. Fire and water are his friends, it seems — a walking contradiction just like Ichigo himself, so that's alright too.

He looks at Urahara ( _Kisuke_ , his memories whisper now), and wonders if he should be furious. But he can't, not really— he remembers this man, after all, remembers that even through the strange habits and suspicious experiments, Kisuke Urahara has always ultimately tried to do the right thing.

Sometimes, the right thing is not the good thing, is not the kind thing. Sometimes, doing the right thing means hurting people now, in order to save them later.

This is no different.

Ichigo understands. He always would have understood, because that's just who he is. Who he's always been. (Who Kaien always was, too).

He thanks the man for his help, for his training. Promises to succeed, to _survive_.

To come home again.

(Something Kaien, ultimately, wasn't able to do).

When Ichigo storms the Seireitei, he does so with three dear friends, children without childhoods, at his side. They follow the paw-print path of a cat who was once a princess, and a warrior, and who may yet be a princess again (but who has never once stopped being a warrior). With them is a man Ichigo doesn't know and yet knows too well, the little brother who hasn't been little in a long, long time and yet still cried into his shoulder when he stepped over the threshold and said _"I'm home"._

(When Renji asks why he's so determined to save Rukia, Ichigo's not sure what to say. Is it because she saved him? Is it because she killed him? Is it because he knows that Rukia Kuchiki deserves better than this? He doesn't know.

Perhaps the answer is all of them.)

(At the Sōkyoku, when Byakuya's sword bursts into a thousand cherry blossoms, Ichigo pulls from somewhere deep within himself and catches the razor-sharp petals in a wave of water that flows under his command as easily as breathing. The Captain stares, stills, and Ichigo can see the thoughts winding and unwinding in his head.

Ichigo doesn't unsheathe his zanpakutō — knows, now, that keeping his cards close to his chest is wise, knows that Zangetsu will only be stronger the longer Ichigo waits to show his hand — but the water swirls into a trident in his grasp, and that feels right too.

The echo of Kaien in the back of his mind raises a cup of tea, and beams with pride.)

* * *

_(Later, when everything is over, when they're all safe and everyone has cried as much as they need, Rukia finds him sitting on the back porch of the 13th Division's offices. He's watching the koi in the pond circle, making patterns in the water for the fish to chase, just like he used to in a different life. Captain Ukitake is there, too — doing paperwork in the clean, crisp air, the lines of worry around his eyes lighter than they've been in decades._

_His best friend, his protege, his savior too many times over, sits down beside him and strips off her sandals and tabi, letting her toes dip in the water._

_"I'm sorry," She says, just like she's said many times since her failed execution._

_"You don't have to be." He responds, just like he has every time._

_Rukia sighs, something heavy and sad. "When I first saw you— as Ichigo, I mean— the first thing I noticed was how much you looked like a child. For all that Soul Reapers age slowly, there's something about Human youth that's totally different. But you—" She looks at him, really looks, eyes deep and troubled. "—you never really were a child, were you?"_

_"Well," Ichigo shrugs, "I suppose not. Not in the Human way, at least. But that's okay."_

_"How?"_

_He looks down at her, breath in her lungs and a heart still beating in her chest. "I'm still here. I got to have a family again, and friends, and a childhood even if it wasn't exactly the normal kind. And then— then, I got to meet you again. I got to see you how I knew you'd be— strong, confident, not afraid to talk back to idiots who need a reality check."_

_She puffs her cheeks indignantly, failing to hide the embarrassed flush that spreads across them. "If I'd known you were—"_

_"You'd still have done it anyways, because I really was kind of an idiot sometimes." Ichigo grins, breathes in the scent of the air. "You really have come so far, Rukia. I always knew you had it in you, and now I'm lucky enough to have seen it happen."_

_"Hey, just you wait— I'm not done yet, you know." And there's more of the Rukia he knows, a cheeky grin and a punch that's definitely going to leave his arm sore for at least ten minutes. "One of these days, I'm going to take that seat from you, so you'd better watch out!"_

_He exchanges a look with Captain Ukitake, who seems far too amused by this all. Ichigo has a sneaking suspicion that Rukia will be offered a promotion before the year is out._

_For now, though, he ruffles her hair in the way he knows'll make her angry, and laughs out loud when she stands and boots him into the water, only to yelp when a wave just so happens to send her sprawling in as well. Things aren't over yet, not even close— not with Aizen escaped to Hueco Mundo, not with his father still keeping secrets and his cousin missing his powers. He's only just learnt Bankai, and barely even scratched the surface of the Hollow and Quincy abilities that Kaien's echo can't really teach him about. Ichigo knows there's more work to be done, and he's going to be ready for it when it comes._

_But until then, he has old memories to honor, and new memories to make._

_He thinks the man he used to be would be proud.)_

**Author's Note:**

> From my notes: _"so i was thinking on my way home about how Ichigo never really feels like a teenager (the way other shonen protagonist like Ed and Naruto and Izuku do), and it cycled back around to his connection to Kaien._
> 
> _i.e., the fic in which Ichigo is indeed Kaien’s reincarnation, but until -things happen- the only thing off about him is that he acts like an adult in a child-sized prison. (And he has these really weird dreams...)"_
> 
> It didn't turn out quite how I initially imagined, especially once I decided to write it in this kind of train-of-narrative, oneshot format, but I think it's come out alright regardless. I would be open to one or two more installments, but I don't have any planned right now.


End file.
